a fortunate lady who made one of those splendid matrimonial partis which actresses are reputed to be in the habit of making so frequently. This lady, whose husband unselfishly permitted her to remain on the stage merely because she was fond of it, had a merchant-princely income at her disposal and spent it in a regally-artistic manner of habiting herself. Lady Teazle—who would "rather be out of the world than out of the fashion"—was less elegantly attired than her American impersonator. Julia in the "Hunchback" was going to have "not brooches, rings and earrings only, but whole necklaces and stomachers of gems." Mrs. Hoey, who played the part, had all these. Julia says, "then will I show you lace a foot deep—can I purchase it?" Mrs. Hoey had purchased it long ago. Nor has this extravagent system gone out with the retirement of Mrs. Hoey. It is true other actresses cannot boast of such diamonds and laces as hers; but for silks, velvets, satins, moires, and the countless paraphernalia of a fashionable woman's toilet, those who succeed her dare not be far behind. An item copied from Paris papers informs us that Adelina Patti recently wore a dress that cost two thousand francs. I do not know why American newspapers should copy this as an extraordinary bit of information, for it was a frequent thing to see Mrs. Hoey on the stage with a dress which cost twice that amount; and even now it is quite a common matter for actresses to wear dresses which cost two and even three hundred dollars. English actresses coming to America and bringing the thin satins and well-worn velvets which have served them for years are frequently surprised to see subordinates of the company walk on the stage so finely dressed as quite to overshadow themselves.
Strolling behind the scenes, we find pretty much the same set of rules in vogue in American theatres as in those of England. We have no national anthem to be sung, which necessitates the assistance of every member of the company; the dirge in "Romeo and Juliet" is now "cut out," and the masquerade scene of the same piece is generally filled up by supernumerary aid, or not filled up at all; but the chorusses of "Macbeth" and "Pizarro" still call for the grumbling lyrical efforts of every individual, from the leading lady down to the call-boy, in American as in English theatres.
The halcyon days of comfort for players, both in England and America, are over, it appears. No longer are succulent viands prepared for stage eating; no longer are bottles of porter provided for stage drinking; indeed, nothing is provided for stage drinking now-a-days, and actors sigh as they drink it out of golden pasteboard goblets and solid wooden jugs. Perhaps this is the reason why the festive bowl is so often drained by professionals in private. Except in a few theatres which cling to the old customs, the luxury of a call-boy has been dispensed with, and players are now obliged
